


The More Things Change

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hustle and NCIS references in the second half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 06:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which a THRUSH interrogator tries to convince Illya that, some day, Napoleon will stop trying to rescue him.  Fifty years later, Napoleon is still proving him wrong.





	The More Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> Second half contains references to NCIS & Hustle and the Illya-is-Ducky/Napoleon-is-Albert headcanons

Illya winced as he felt another strike across his face; he could feel the bruises, black and purple, swelling on his face. He attempted to shake off the pain, acting less hurt by his interrogator than he actually was.

“ _Talk_ ,” the THRUSH interrogator hissed. “Where is Solo?”

Illya turned his face away, refusing to divulge his partner’s location. He would ensure that Napoleon continued on with the mission. He would not let Napoleon be subjected to this torture.

“Why do you keep insisting on protecting him? I have seen the records of my colleagues. Always, you let yourself get captured, and expect him to finish the mission and then find a way to rescue you.”

“I do not _let_ myself get captured,” Illya muttered. “It just happens, and I would much prefer to avoid it. Perhaps my blond hair reflects the moonlight better and makes me more visible.”

He flinched as he was struck again.

“If that is the case, then your hair makes you a detriment to your organization and to your partnership, as well,” the interrogator sneered. “And soon, Solo will realize that. Do you know what will happen then?”

Illya didn’t answer.

“I will tell you, Kuryakin,” the interrogator continued. “You see, unlike you, Solo has a lot to live for. He is well-loved in your agency, and, as I understand it, after being the youngest C.E.A. in the history of your organization, there is no limit to how much higher glory he can achieve. You, on the other hand with your frequent captures, are a constant hazard to both his ambitions and his life.”

“He does not see it that way,” Illya hissed.

“Not yet,” the interrogator agreed. “But, one day, he will. And on that day, when you’re captured, you will be waiting and waiting for him, as you are now—only he will never show up to rescue you. He will have discarded the millstone and leave you to THRUSH. So, why not cooperate?”

Illya did not reply. There was no point; THRUSH agents rarely saw each other as more than temporary allies to later betray. Of course they would think U.N.C.L.E. agents would act the same way.

The questioning and grilling continued for some more time, with Illya being uncooperative, and the interrogator getting more and more frustrated as a result, and just as Illya steeled himself for another strike, his interrogator suddenly fell over, tranquilized. Illya then relaxed as he felt a familiar hand on his face.

“Sorry it took me so long,” Napoleon said. From his tone of voice, Illya guessed his bruises and wounds weren’t pretty.

But Illya didn’t seem to mind now; he managed a wan smile.

“I knew you would come,” he murmured, as Napoleon untied him and then began to treat his wounds with a cold cloth.

“Of course,” Napoleon said. 

Illya leaned against him for support, finally able to relax. At last, after such a long time, he felt safe again.

*50 Years Later…*

It was a darkly familiar scene for Illya, held hostage by an angry villain demanding information. He was much older, and working under an alias as part of a deep-cover assignment with the NCIS, but it was almost exasperating when his role as a medical examiner should have kept him away from most of the danger.

Nevertheless, he’d ended up going willingly with a desperate suspect to protect the others—and found that even after fifty years, people still thought they could intimidate him into talking.

“You may as well start talking, Dr. Mallard,” the suspect hissed at Illya. “Where is the rest of your team!?”

“You know, I’ve always found silence to be golden, as the saying goes,” Illya deadpanned.

The suspect cursed, twisting Illya’s arm.

“Don’t think that your old age will protect you,” he warned. Illya gritted his teeth, but didn’t say anything, enraging the suspect further. “You might as well tell me where the others are—and how much they know.”

Illya rolled his eyes.

“Look,” the man snarled. “No one knows where you are. Who do you think will help you now?”

Illya gritted his teeth again as he felt his arm twist further, but then suddenly found the pressure on his arm letting go as the suspect dropped at his feet. It was a tranquilizer from an U.N.C.L.E. special, he realized.

“Sorry it took me so long,” the familiar voice of his partner said from behind him.

The Russian managed a chuckle, shaking his head.

“I knew you’d come,” he echoed—a familiar line that still held true.

“Even though I’m supposed to be in London right now?” Napoleon asked. “Bet you’re wondering about that.”

“…You got thrown out of a casino again, didn’t you? And now you are back in the States until the whole thing blows over?”

Napoleon gave him an indignant look.

“It was Danny who got us thrown out!” he insisted.

Illya just smirked at him.

“Very well, Napoleon; I, for one, am glad to see you again. It has been very lonely without you, so I am hoping it takes a while before you can return to London with your merry men.”

It was Napoleon’s turn to chuckle; he gently touched Illya’s cheek and winked—a familiar gesture.

“Since I’ve got nothing to do,” he said. “If there’s any way I can continue to be a part of this, you know I’d love to.”

“Napoleon…” Illya said. “You are my partner. That will never change, even with these assignments. But I don’t think you’d like it down in autopsy—and you know that as well as I do.”

“Yeah, good point,” Napoleon said. “Well, I’ll meet you at home, then.”

“I’ll try to finish up as early as I can,” Illya promised.

As Napoleon headed back, Illya had to reflect on how, even after all these years, Napoleon had never stopped coming for him—nor had he ever stopped coming for Napoleon.

Indeed, that had been how they’d made it this far.


End file.
